Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven

by Jennifer Roberson

  He shrugged. "Only that it exists, and that it gives some people the ability to understand how others feel." He paused. "And that I have it."

  Sean sighed heavily. "How long have you known?"

  "That it had a name?—a few months, no more. My jehana told me when she realized I had the ability…" Aidan's mouth twisted. "I thought it was something everyone had. I never even asked."

  Sean shook his head. "Not everyone, lad. 'Tisn't so prevalent as it once was—even then, 'twas mostly limited to the Aerie. We intermarried too much, in younger days…" He squinted into the sky. "Shona has it from me."

  Aidan frowned. "But even if she does, what difference does it make? Why does the kivarna have anything to do with what happened when we touched?"

  Sean did not look at him. He stared down at his hands, assiduously pulling up turf and shredding it. "When I came to manhood," he began, "I was no better than a rutting boar. What woman I wanted, I took, if she was willing… and she was. She always was: I was the Prince of Erinn." He looked at Aidan briefly, sharing the common knowledge of rank and title. "I was taught very young about kivarna, so I understood why I found it distasteful to pursue an unwilling woman, and why I was not a bully, and why it hurt me when someone else's feelings were hurt. 'Twas a difficult thing, as a child—but then, you'd be knowing that." His smile was crooked. "They say I sired half the bastards on this island, but no. There was the Redbeard, too… perhaps between the two of us, we accounted for half."

  Aidan, frowning, wondered why Sean was telling him the story of his youth. It was none of Aidan's business how many bastards Sean had sired, or that he had sired any; and it had nothing whatsoever to do with his kivarna.

  "My lord—"

  Sean lifted a silencing hand. "What I'm saying, lad, is I was very lucky, because I took care to be so. I knew I would one day be marrying the Princess Royal of Homana, and that if I was not very careful, I alone could turn the future of Erinn—and possibly Homana—into a travesty."

  Aidan's frown deepened.

  "Kivarna," Sean said softly, "has its own sort of price."

  Aidan reined in impatience. "My lord—"

  "A man who has kivarna is blessed in bed," Sean said bluntly, "because he knows what the woman feels. But that same man, lying with a woman who has the gift, seals himself to her forever. As she seals herself to him."

  Aidan stared at him, recalling all too clearly the results when he and Shona had touched.

  Sean drew in a breath. "Had I lain with a woman who had kivarna, I could never have lain with Keely. D'ye see? 'Tis a mutual binding… you may know up here you should lie with another woman, a woman who lacks the gift—" he tapped his head "—but the body says otherwise. The body refuses."

  "Refuses?" Aidan echoed.

  Sean's expression was odd. "There are more ways to geld a man than with a knife."

  "But—" Aidan stared at him blankly. "Are you saying so long as I lie with women who lack kivarna, I am in no danger?"

  "Aye, lad. And I'm assuming you've found that out already." One of Sean's brows arched sardonically. "Have you not?"

  Impatiently, Aidan waved a hand. "Aye, aye… I was never a rutting boar—" He stopped. "Perhaps I was, a little—but the reasons were different…" He saw Sean's private smile; he scowled and went on. "So, you are saying that Shona and I share this kivarna, and if we slept together we would be bound to one another."

  "Forever," Sean affirmed.

  "But you do not share this with Keely."

  The Lord of Erinn grinned. " 'Tis your way of asking if I'm faithful, is it?" Then, as Aidan tried to protest, Sean shook his head. " 'Twas never an issue, lad. She has no Erinnish, and no kivarna, but it doesn't matter. Keely is more than woman enough for any man, even a reformed boar." Then the humor faded. "D'ye understand what I'm saying?"

  "Aye." Oddly, jubilation welled up. Now he understood. Now it had a name. Now it had a purpose. Aidan smiled. "What is the problem? I came to Erinn to see if Shona and I would suit one another. Obviously, we do."

  Sean's expression was solemn. "Do you?"

  "Aye! Even this kivarna says we do."

  Sean nodded after a moment. "Aye. But there's something you're forgetting."

  Aidan spread his hands. "What?"

  "Shona. She's wanting no part of you."

  She paced, because she could not stand still. Back and forth, back and forth—until the dogs began to whine. Until her mother, rather more calmly than expected, told her to stop.

  Shona swung around. "Stop!" she cried. "You tell me to stop? 'Tis the only thing keeping me whole—"

  Keely's contempt, though subtle, displayed itself nonetheless. "There is no sense in allowing yourself to become so overwrought."

  Shona's eyes blazed. "And would you not be overwrought?"

  Looking at her daughter, Keely sighed. She had bequeathed the girl her own stubbornness and outspokenness—Shona disdained such things as polite diplomacy when bluntness would do, and she had little patience for convoluted courtesies. She was, Keely reflected, exactly as she had made her… and now her mother must live with it.

  But so must Shona. And just now it was impossible.

  They were in the central hall, where Shona had announced her arrival by slamming open the door before the startled servant could do it for her, with less drama. Shona's flamboyant arrival, complete with eleven wolfhounds, nonetheless was quickly forgotten in the shock of seeing brown eyes gone black in confusion and shock, and the pallor of her face. She had blurted out what had happened. Sean had at once dispatched himself to find Aidan; Keely dismissed gathering servants and shut the door personally, telling her daughter of Aidan's reason for his visit.

  Now the girl paced before the fireplace. The hounds, sprawled here and there as living, breathing carpets, watched her worriedly. Keely, lacking kivarna, nonetheless shared a portion of their anxiety. But she would not let her daughter see it.

  Shona turned on her heel and paced back the other way. "Married, is it? They might have warned me. They might have written. Even he might have; was he thinking I'd welcome him?"

  "Undoubtedly," Keely answered. "We give welcome to all our guests."

  Shona cast her an impatient scowl. " 'Twasn't what I meant… I meant he might have been thinking how I'd react, meeting him like that."

  "I doubt he anticipated the kivarna" Keely said dryly.

  "Aileen said nothing of it to me in any of her letters, and it was the last thing I expected. We all forget he is half Erinnish…" She sighed and chewed idly at a thumb. "And for all you were taken by surprise, I'm thinking he was, too. Are you so selfish to think only of yourself?"

  Shona had the grace to look abashed. She stopped pacing and threw herself down into a chair. It was her father's favorite, and engulfed her. Her expression altered slowly from fierce outrage to something akin to compassion. She smiled lopsidedly. "He was no more prepared for it than me. You should have seen his face…" Shona slung one muscled leg over the chair arm, settling into its depths. "I felt everything he felt, when we touched—it mirrored what I felt, throwing it back at me…" She frowned, squirming uncomfortably. " 'Twas not something I'm wanting to repeat… gods, but he was so open—" Shona laced fingers into her braid and tugged, as if to distract herself. "And I knew, when he touched me, he was wanting me—needing me—"

  She broke off with a muttered curse, clearly embarrassed as well as frustrated. Keely waited, trying to sort out her own welter of emotions.

  Shona sat upright abruptly, unhooking the dangling leg and planting both booted feet on the floor. She leaned into her elbows and hid her face behind both hands. Her words were muffled, but the raw helplessness of the tone was undisguised. "Gods help me, but 'twas what I was wanting too—every bit of it, I wanted… I could not help myself—" She drew her hands away and cast an anguished plea at her mother. "What was I to do? I couldn't bear it, all that nakedness of feelings, all the knowing what he wanted, and me… all I could do was run away! Like a child,
a wee bairn fleeing—" Self-contempt was plain. "And me knowing all the while if I gave in, it was over… if I even wavered—" She shut her eyes. "Gods, I feel so helpless… it made me feel so helpless—"

  Keely drew in a deep breath, trying to still her voice. "It was the kivarna—"

  Shona rubbed violently at her brow. "I'm knowing that, well enough… I just never thought—" She broke it off, rose, began to pace again. "How can I marry him? We're strangers to one another, knowing nothing about our habits and interests… how could he think I might be willing?"

  Keely lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "The way anyone thinks a man might be willing, or a woman, when they first meet."

  Shona stared blankly at the dogs, sprawled on the stone floor. Eventually she sat down by one of the bitches and began to stroke the narrow, wiry head. One of the pups came over and collapsed as near to Shona as possible, burrowing her head into her lap. Absently, Shona petted both hounds.

  " 'Twasn't that way for you and father."

  Keely grunted. "You know that story. I've told you."

  "So has he." Briefly, Shona grinned. "But you loved one another before you married. You've both said so."

  "Your jehan and I had less in common when we met than you and Aidan. There was no kivarna for us."

  Shona's cheeks reddened. "I'm wanting more than what we felt. That was little more than two children setting a broomstick alight—and having the rafters catch!"

  Keely smiled. "Aye, well… there is something to be said for passion, and something to be said for peace. Sometimes one outdistances the other, but eventually they catch up."

  Troubled, Shona continued to stroke the wolfhounds. "But I know the cost of kivarna. I'm knowing what it means. If we married, Aidan and I, and he died, I'd be left alone. Forever. With no man to love, or love me back." She looked at her mother. "What would you do if father died?"

  Keely drew in a long, painful breath, then released it. "Go on," she answered quietly. "He would expect it of me."

  Shona's eyes were steady. She was too much like her father; Keely found it difficult to answer that face. "What would you expect of yourself?"

  After a moment, Keely smiled. It was ironic and bittersweet. "Once, I would have told you no man is worth the loyalty of a woman, or her soul. That no man is so important his passing would leave a woman bereft; she has strength of her own, and worth, and should go on very well without him." She stroked a strand of hair back from her face. "But I have learned that a woman need not subjugate herself to live with a man, nor give up any part of her beliefs. A woman is free to love as she will, and therefore free to grieve." She looked at her daughter's intent face. "If your rather ever asked me to do something I was adamantly opposed to, I would refuse. No one has the right to expect another to compromise personal beliefs simply to accommodate the other. If he asked me not to grieve, I would laugh into his face. But if I thought he expected me to end my life when he died, I would leave him instantly."

  "Even if you loved him?"

  "I will always love your father. But I would leave him. And he knows it."

  Shona's face was grim. "It would be more difficult if there was kivarna between you."

  Keely gestured. "Perhaps. But because we had it between us, it might never come to that. Perhaps if more men and women shared a mutual kivarna, there would be less contention between them."

  The tone was argumentative. "So, you think I should marry him."

  Keely smiled calmly. "I think you should make the choice for yourself, and then live with it."

  Shona scowled. "That is easy for you to say."

  Keely laughed aloud, "Is it? Oh, my foolish lass, you're knowing nothing about it. Nothing at all about it."

  Shona looked affronted. "How can you say that? You're not in my position—"

  Keely stood up, tugging her jerkin back into place. "We all make choices," she said, "Man, woman, and child. And then we must live with them."

  Shona's voice rose as Keely approached the door. "But your choice isn't like mine. It never was. You loved my father. You're not knowing what this is like."

  Keely was at once swept back years to the bleakest portion of her life. To the hardest decision she had ever faced. To the knowledge that the child she carried was a child of rape, both physical and emotional, and the product of her most hated enemy. Knowing the child, if born, might have equal access to magics more powerful than any presently known, and that he or she might use them for evil.

  Swept back to the decision that she could not, would not bear the abomination, and would do whatever she could to miscarry it. Because it was, to her, the only answer. The only alternative.

  Keely drew in a breath. "There are people in this world who want to make decisions for you. Some of them even do it out of misintentioned goodness, of well-meant kindness. They believe wholeheartedly they are doing you a service when they take away your freedom of choice, in the name of their morality. Who am I to take away your right to choose?" She spread her hands. "I will answer any question you have, and I will give you all the advice you want, but I will not make the decision for you. That is for you to do."

  Shona opened her mouth to protest. But she did not, and after a moment, she smiled. "Aye, so it is. And for that freedom, I should be grateful."

  "Aye," Keely agreed, thinking of Brennan and Aileen, who had known no freedom.

  And of their son, and her daughter, whose unexpected "gifts" might rob them of their share.

  Chapter Eight

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  Aidan stood beside his borrowed bed, contemplating his baggage. One set of saddle-pouches, carrying changes of clothing, preserved food, a few other oddments. A servant had been sent to unpack for him, but Aidan had thanked him and dismissed him. He was not yet certain he was staying long enough to unpack anything.

  Teel, perched upon a bedpost, fluttered blue-black wings, The least you can do is stay to the evening meal. Why run away on an empty belly?

  Aidan grimaced. I am not running away. Why stay where I am most obviously not welcome?

  The woman is the daughter, not the lady… let the others determine your welcome.

  He had left the door open. Someone stepped through. He knew before she spoke exactly who it was; the kivarna told him plainly. "So," she said coolly, "I'm thinking there's something to be settled."

  Aidan did not turn. "Aye. And I am settling it this moment."

  The smoky voice was curt; she did not understand his reference. "What?"

  He turned. She was everything he recalled: long of limb, broad of shoulder, impossibly strong of will. She blazed with determination. "Am I to go, or stay?" He gestured idly toward the unpacked saddle-pouches. "I have only to throw them over my shoulder and walk back down to the city. There will be a ship. And I can go home."

  Shona's assessive eyes narrowed. "You give in easily."

  "Give in?" He loaded the words with elaborate surprise. "I did not know we had even gotten that far."

  Now her tone was glacial. "We got nowhere at all, I'm thinking, except to recognize the kivarna." Her feet were spread, legs braced; she was poised for war, Aidan thought, in one way or another. Her jaw was tightly set. "Did you know what would happen?"

  He made a sound of disgust. "I know as much about kivarna as you do about having a lir." Abruptly he paused, thinking of Keely. If Shona were like her mother, his last comment bore no meaning at all. "You have no lir, have you? Or recourse to lir-shape?"

  Muscles flexed in her jaw. "No."

  The kivarna flared briefly. He had touched a nerve. It was plain to him: Shona displayed no physical characteristics of her mother's race, nor the magic of the Cheysuli. What she was, most obviously, was Erinnish, complete with Erinnish kivarna.

  And she feels diminished because of it.

  Aidan shook his head, answering her more kindly. "No, I knew I had it, but not what it was. Nor what it could do."

  It seemed to mollify her. And he realized, with an unpleasant jolt, that the ext
ra sense he relied on to tell him what people felt was her gift as well. Shona could read him as well as he read her.

  He was not certain he liked that.

  Unexpectedly, Shona laughed. "Aye," she agreed, "unpleasant. Unsettling, I'm thinking—and you. D'ye see what we'd be dealing with, day in and day out?"

  Rebellion flickered. "There is more to it than that."

  Derision was blatant. "Oh, aye. There's this, too. I'm thinking." And she strode across the room to catch both of his hands in hers, grasping tightly. "This, too, my boyo. D'ye think we can deal with this?"

  It flared up between them as strongly as before, but the emphasis was different. There was less of pure, driving need and more of anticipation, of promised pleasure, of warmth and exhilaration; of a certainty of completeness. There were layers, Aidan realized, even to physical need, buttressed by the spiritual and emotional. What lay between them was far more than a desire for mere physical gratification. With Shona, there was a future beyond a single night—or hour—in bed.

  Once, it might have frightened him. But now it was what he wanted.

  This time, Aidan broke contact, to show her that he could. Even as she tensed, intending to release him, he pulled his hands from her grasp.

  Aidan pointed at the bed. "There is more to life than that. And I want more."

  Color stood high on her face. This time there was no fear, no flight, no denial. This time there was comprehension, and control. And yet clearly she was as shaken as he by the kivarna. "I want—" Her voice was hoarse. She swallowed heavily. "I want the freedom to choose."

  "You have it."

  "Have I?" In the light, her features were harsh. "If we face this every time we touch, what choice is that? That, my lad, is helplessness—"

  He cut her off. "The first time you sat upon a horse and it ran away with you, that was helplessness. The first time one of your wolfhound bitches whelped you a dead puppy, that was helplessness. But you still ride, do you not? And you still breed dogs."

  Her face was very white. "I'll not be bound by this. I'll not give up my freedom to a whim of the gods, who no doubt find this amusing."